To Catch A Thief
by Kerowyn
Summary: When the 19th century detective and a 21st century thief get caught up in a plot to steal the Crown Jewels... well, you'll just have to find out.
1. Author's Notes

Here I go again. I meant to post this a lot soon but my computer kinda blew up and I lost part of it. Thank God for my backup disks.   
Anyway I hope you aren't put off by my lousy Author's Note and I'm praying to the computer gods that my computer won't crash again.  
Sherlock Holmes et. al. belong to Arthur Conan Doyle, I'm just borrowing them for my humble little plotline.   
Read (review?) and enjoy!  
  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	2. Onyx

.·´¨`·»¦«· To Catch A Thief ·»¦«·´¨`·.  
  
Chapter One  
Onyx  
  
My name is Nancy Aurora Harland and I am a college student from Brooklyn, NY. That's Nancy to my parents, Aurora to my friends, and Onyx to my co-workers. Not a person would every connect quiet, easy-going Nancy with fiery Onyx, the greatest free-lance thief in the modern world. Which was, of course, the point. Onyx is a trade name, earned in my early years because of my calling card, tiny onyx figurines. I also had a bad habit of going over my biography in my head before a job. Honestly, by now, I sound like a bad movie. Anyway, moving on.  
  
My partner Joseph "Jack" Hunde, trade name Wes, derived from his favorite weapon, a Smith & Wesson revolver, pointed out a particular exhibit and I murmured a reply. Our current commission was to steal the largest uncultured pearl in the world. The pearl was traveling with an precious gem exhibit, and was now at the British Museum. Most people in our profession would have planned an elaborate break during the night, but not us.  
  
We came along side the pearl's display case. The guard examined and dismissed us within a second. We were playing at being the proper young lovers, more interested in each other than various crystallized silica. The guard was a discreet distance from the actual display case and the museum patrons and school groups generally obscured his view. A large diamond was actually the centerpiece of the exhibit so the pedestal was clear of viewers.   
  
We huddled close to the stand, and under the cover of our bodies, Wes swiftly removed a piece of the glass. I waited a moment to be sure that no one had noticed this. Then I switched the pearl with a rather cunningly disguised golf ball. Wes replaced the glass, securing it with a piece of invisible tape. The real pearl found its way into my jacket pocket. The whole procedure had taken about thirty seconds, and all the rest of the world saw was two lovers getting a little closer.   
  
A wandering security guard sent us along with a knowing smile and wink. Wes and I toured the rest of the exhibit slowly, staying in character the entire time. We meandered out of the museum a half-hour later, arm in arm, the pearl still securely in my pocket.   
  
"That was too easy." I chuckled.  
  
"A million pounds for a hour's work with a couple of pounds worth of equipment. Luv, that was bloody brilliant!" Jack twirled and dipped me, in a maneuver more suited to the dance floor than the sidewalk.  
  
I laughed, feeling the energy rush that always came after a successful job. "I may just retire after this." I said dreamily. "You know I always wanted to have my own business. Half a million pounds is a lot of overhead."  
  
"Really?" Wes asked. "Is the great Onyx actually going straight? Heavens, the world must becoming to an end!"  
  
"Stop!" I shoved him and he made a great show of staggering away. "I mean it. Of course, I would still keep my hand in."  
  
"Good." Wes said with mock seriousness. "Guys like us don't go straight, we just get sloppy."  
  
"Hah! I am ze greatest theef in ze vorld! I vould never ve svloppy!" I faked a horrible accent and Wes laughed.   
  
His laughter faded suddenly, as if someone had turned down a radio. The already darkening sky suddenly became black as a wave of dizziness and nausea threatened to overcome me. I staggered against a convenient light pole and doubled over in an effort to get the blood back to my brain.   
  
"Whoa. That was weird." I said to Wes apologetically, but no one answered. I looked up sharply. Wes was nowhere to be seen and the storefronts we had been passing had suddenly become Victorian style houses. A horse-drawn carriage rattled by, shaking me out of my stunned state. The street had seemed deserted, but now that I looked again, I saw people walking around in clothing that matched the houses. A couple passed me, giving me a strange look. After they passed, their intent whispers and pointed looks indicated that they thought I was dressed just as strangely as they were. I guess they had a point. A lace shirt, black slacks and a leather duster were kinda weird, given the setting.   
  
Thief's instinct told me to get under cover, and I did, taking refuge in the shadows of an alley. Several possibilities for my sudden shift in time and location occurred to me, but because of my love of science fiction and fantasy novels, most of them were highly unlikely. Then again, I did seem as if I had traveled back in time.  
  
" Well, well. Lookey 'ere." A sinister voice shook me out of my thoughts. I whirled around to face a man who was a caricature of a burglar. Dirty face and hands, rumpled clothing, stocking hat, leering Cockney accent, all he was missing was a bag with a dollar sign on it. "We got oursselves a visit'r."  
  
I drew myself up to my full height and matched him glare for glare. I said nothing, which seemed to throw him off a bit.  
  
"Well, then mum. We be sent ta take ya ta 'he Master's 'ouse." He grinned at me, taking a step closer, like a feral dog.  
  
I stepped back, dragged up my best British accent and replied. "I won't be going anywhere, thank you." I drawled.  
  
All of his pretense at friendliness dropped, and he growled at me. "You'll be comin' wit us if we hafta drag ya to the Master's." Two more men melted out of the shadows behind Dog. They looked like stronger, taller copies of Dog except for one had brown hair and the other blond. "I gots me orders mum, and I'll carry 'em through. Wot's mor is, I won't waste th' hours I spent waitin' for ya neither."  
  
Brown and Blond dove for me at the same time. I manage to dodge one but not the other. I kicked Brown in the stomach and rolled away, jumping to my feet. Dog, however, had also joined the fray and grabbed me by the arm before I saw him.  
  
"Stop!" A loud voice echoed through the tiny alley.   
  
Dog's grip on my arm was so tight I knew I was going to have bruises. With the distraction of two strangers appearing at the end of the alley, he loosened his grip a bit. I stamped down on his foot, catching his instep. Dog howled with pain and released me. At the same time, Blond dove at me, slamming me against the wall. My head hit the wall with an audible crack, and for a moment, I saw stars.   
  
Once my vision had cleared, I found myself lying on the alley ground. The two strangers had chased off my attackers and were returning to check on me. Several thoughts flashed through my mind at once, foremost being that these men would have a lot of questions and I had zero answers. I shut my eyes and feigned unconsciousness.  
  
"Well, Watson?" The voice from before asked quietly.  
  
I felt a hand examine the lump on my head and tried not to flinch. "She's got a concussion at the very least. We should bring her to the flat and try and bring her round."  
  
"Capital idea, Watson." One of them picked me up and carried me into a building, presumably 'the flat.' It couldn't have been very far because in less than a minute I was lying on a very comfortable couch.  
  
I risked opening my eyes. The room was small but comfortable, with books and newspapers piled high on every available surface. Two armchairs sat next to a cheerful fire. In one sat a tall man with dark brown hair and a weird look on his face. The weird thing about it was that there was no look on his face, like a statue. The other chair was meant for the man who was pouring a drink.  
  
"It's only a concussion, she'll come around in a few moments." He said as he replaced the decanter.  
  
"Strange," The other muttered, mainly to himself. "She presents many contradictions. Her hands have no calluses, yet she defended herself as one accustomed to fighting. Her clothes, though strange, are well made, suggesting wealth. But we find her fending off toughs in an alley. I wonder…" The voice trailed off. A moment later he spoke again. "I suppose I shall get all my answers soon enough, eh Watson."  
  
"I imagine she has a strange story to tell, Holmes."   
  
Brother, you have no idea. I thought to myself. Then it clicked. Holmes. Watson. Victorian London. Uh Oh.  
  
The Sherlock Holmes? The Dr. Watson? Elementary, my dear Watson and all that? The sad thing was that meeting two of the greatest fictional literary characters of all time wasn't the weirdest thing that had happened to me today.   
  
In my shock, I forgot to close my eyes again. Watson turned around and approached me with the drink.   
  
"Here my dear, drink up." I took the glass. The scent of brandy rose from the dark amber liquid. I tasted it slowly, trying to rally my thoughts.   
  
When I didn't say anything, Holmes addressed me. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my colleague Dr. John Watson. We have had the pleasure of rescuing you."  
  
I nearly smiled at the idea of me needing rescuing. "My name is Aurora." I said simply, careful to maintain my British accent. "Thank you for your help."  
  
Holmes frowned ever so slightly at my introduction. "Forgive me inquisitiveness but what were you doing down there?"  
  
"Just walking." I said, telling as little of the truth as possible. Holmes' frown deepened. He obviously wasn't used to having to deal with someone like me.   
  
"You're being very evasive."  
  
"Thank you."   
  
Now he was really frustrated. "Madam, do you have anything to hide?"  
  
"Nothing in particular." The weight of the largest pearl in the world was now very heavy in my pocket.  
  
"Then why do you not answer?"  
  
"Why should I?" I retorted.   
  
Holmes sighed and slouched back in his chair. "Americans." He muttered.  
  
"What?" Watson and I both exclaimed. He had been following the entire conversation without a word. I was glad that my accent was good enough to fool him.  
  
"You will never pass as a true Briton with that accent of yours." Holmes chuckled, pleased to have the upper hand again.  
  
"Yeah, well it would help if you didn't blow my cover." I snapped back, letting every drop of my Brooklyn accent shine forth. I think I shocked them both a bit there, Watson especially.  
  
"Well!" Watson said, but seemed to have no idea how to follow that up.   
  
"Is this the latest fashion in New York?" Holmes asked sardonically. I glanced down at my outfit and I actually flushed. Holmes really knew how to get under your skin.  
  
"It's a bit ahead of its time." I said, slipping easily back into a London accent.  
  
Holmes said nothing. For a minute, he sat in silence. Not to be out-cooled I did the same. The tension slowly built until Watson broke it by standing.  
  
"Leaving us so soon, Doc?" I asked lightly.   
  
"It's getting late, I must return home." He said, taking his hat. "Goodbye, Holmes. Miss Aurora." And he walked out.  
  
"I think I scared off your friend there." I chuckled.  
  
"Watson is a man of action, not of thought." Holmes replied. "He would rather be taking you down to Scotland Yard. I'm not so sure that I shouldn't do just that."  
  
"Oh, you could try. I wouldn't make any guarantees though."  
  
"No, I wouldn't." He fell silent. I interrupted him before he could get all broody again.  
  
"Look you might as well tell me right now whether or not you're going to throw me out on my…" I stopped myself before I said 'my ass' but I think Holmes knew where I was going.  
  
"I suppose I could trust you in Watson's old room." He said thoughtfully. He looked at me sharply as if he thought I might pull a gun on him at any moment.  
  
"Look, don't take this the wrong way, but if I wanted you dead, you would be." I said matter-of-factly.  
  
A few minutes later, I was in the guest room. It had the feel of a room that had been left empty for some time. Holmes had written something and sent off a boy named Billy with a note to the newspapers while I listened from the keyhole. I assumed it was a notice for anyone who knew me to come and get me.  
  
The house had been silent for an hour now. The pearl lay in hiding beneath one of the floorboards I'd managed to pull up. The rug in the room covered the loose part. I lay on the neatly made bed and tried to organize my thoughts.  
  
Eventually, my thoughts turned to Wes. He had been with me when whatever it was had happened. Was he in this time too? Was he still in the 21st century searching for me? He was probably still standing on that street corner, trying figure out how I had disappeared into thin air.   
  
Being a thief, I usually stayed up half the night and slept half the day. But the effects of being transported backwards across an entire century were catching up with me. Next thing I knew, there was sunlight streaming in the windows and a soft tapping at the door.  
  
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Question, comments, critisicms, complaints, can be directed to the review button there. Please review!  
  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	3. The Adventure of the Coded Letter

Author's Note: I'm not sure how much I like this chapter so please let me know if you guys like it. It may be changed into something completely different at a later date. Enjoy!  
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Chapter Two  
The Adventure of the Coded Letter  
  
Mrs. Hudson came bustling in the door, arms full of clothes, as soon as I opened it. It turned out to be mainly dresses and other period clothing that used to belong to her daughter, now married. I thanked her profusely and changed into to one of them. To my surprise, it fit well, and I actually liked the way it looked. I had never been much on dresses before, but I rarely wore them.   
  
Mrs. Hudson came back with a breakfast tray saying, "You shouldn't have to face breakfast with strangers after your ordeal." I suppressed a chuckle and thanked her again. She smiled kindly and swept out again.  
  
Mrs. Hudson never got much attention in the stories, but less than a day here had shown me that she was the backbone of the household, kind, matronly and always helping. I shook my head to clear out the cobwebs of sleep and applied myself to breakfast, tea, ham and hash browns.  
  
After breakfast I went exploring and found there wasn't much to explore. The most interesting room was the one I had woken up in last night. Letters were stuck into the mantelpiece with a jack-knife, papers were piled everywhere, a large chemistry set in one corner, and assorted knickknacks were wherever they had last been set down. But, the most eye-catching thing in the whole room was that an entire wall was riddled with bullet holes. A paper lying across an armchair told me the date was May 1887. I consider myself a messy person, but this guy gave the phrase a whole new meaning.   
  
"I see our resident patient has awoken." The dry cynical voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see Sherlock Holmes standing in the doorway. I hadn't gotten a good look at him the night before, but this more than made up for it. He had, consciously or unconsciously, struck a pose worthy of print in The Strand. Tall and handsome, the sun struck his features at a picture perfect angle.  
  
I tried to think of a witty retort. Just as a good one occurred to me, Holmes spoke and drove it right out of my head. "I trust you slept well." The guy was not much with small talk. At least he was trying to been friendly.  
  
"Well enough." I said noncommittally. I sat in a chair and watched the internal struggle with some amusement. He obviously wanted to ask me something but was trying to not offend me. "Go ahead. Ask."  
  
He gave me an opaque look. "I wished to ask you if you remembered anything about your former life."   
  
"Former? I'm not dead yet." I joked. Holmes didn't seem deterred. "I can't tell you much…" I said, stalling for time. I had no idea how to explain this and had no desire to try.   
  
"Why not?" He asked.  
  
"It's top secret." I replied.   
  
Holmes frowned. "Top secret?" I shrugged. I figured that if I confused him enough he'd just give up. I didn't get a chance to test that theory, though, because at that exact moment the bell rang.  
  
A man was shown in and introduced as Mr. David Underhill. He was medium height and build, with nondescript brown hair. In a word, he was ordinary. He didn't wait for a question, but plunged straight into his narrative.  
  
"I hope I'm not interrupting Mr. Holmes," his eyes flickered in my direction, "but I've got a queer case for you. The Yard can't do anything about it so they recommended you." Holmes waved at a seat, inviting Mr. Underhill to sit down. He did and continued speaking. "You see, my friend, Mr. Jerry Halwell, has disappeared."  
  
"He didn't come into work today or yesterday. We are both cab drivers for East End Cab Company. Jerry is never late and never absent. None of us have ever seen him sick. Our boss thinks Jerry just decided to quit, and it's happened before that men have just up and left with no explanation. But I went over to Jerry's apartment last night, and he wasn't there. All that was there was a bed, table, chair, dresser and this note." He handed Holmes a slip of paper. "I can't make heads or tails of it." Holmes examined the note then looked up.  
  
"Do you have any particular theories, Mr. Underhill?" He asked.  
  
Mr. Underhill shifted uncomfortably. "I hate to speak ill of a colleague, but Jerry's been a bit obsessed about money lately. He's been involved in a few schemes and I wouldn't be surprised if they were on the shady side. I'm afraid he's gotten in over his head. Jerry's got a good heart but he's not long on brains."  
  
"About when did this interest in money start?"  
  
Underhill thought about it for a moment. "It must have been around the end of August, because he was talking about some idea to make money off the heat wave."   
  
"And what is Mr. Halwell's address?"  
  
"450A Goswell St., Islington."  
  
They both stood and shook hands. "I shall look into your case Mr. Underhill."  
  
"Thank you very much Mr. Holmes." And he left.  
  
Holmes sat in thought for a moment. I looked at the letter, which he still had in his hand. Curiosity got the better of me.  
  
"Can I see the letter?" I asked very politely. Holmes gave me a rather startled look, then smiled.  
  
"The code is rather simple." He said, handing it over.  
  
It ran like this:"ice/tree/sand//hat/apple/pear/pear/ear/night/ice/night/grape// cat/oats/meat/ear//quiet/umbrella/ice/cat/kite//pear/ice/cat/wick/ice/cat/kite//hat/open/tree/ear/lane// rent/open/oat/mat// 215  
  
I decided that the double slashes must be breaks in between words. So each word had to stand for a letter. Maybe the first letter of each word. I tested my theory and the letter now read: " its happening come quick pickwick hotel room 215"  
  
I ran this by Holmes, who nodded, looking, amused maybe? "Our first course of action seems to be to examine Mr. Halwell's apartment." He said.  
  
"We?"   
  
"Would you rather spend the day here?" Something in his tone told me he hoped I would.   
  
"A little fresh air would do me good." I said brightly.  
  
The apartment wasn't too far away, but there wasn't much to be found. It was exactly as the cab driver had described it, sparsely furnished and neat. No more encoded notes were found, and the landlady told us rather sharply that she didn't keep tabs on her tenants.   
  
We took a cab down to the Pickwick Hotel. We bounced around a few theories on the way. I thought that Halwell had gotten on the bad side of the Mafia or something and that the note was a lure. Holmes thought that it was the Mafia too, but he thought it was a notice for a shipment of some kind.  
  
Twenty minutes later found us in front of the Pickwick Hotel. It was on the edge of the East End, an area that had clearly seen better days. The four-story building had been built in those better days, but now sat dejected and crumbling between two tenements.   
  
The manager eyed us suspiciously as we walked in. Not because we were particularly out-of-place, but because living here had gotten him in the habit of looking at everyone suspiciously.   
  
"Good day sir, ma'am." He said warily. "How may I help you?"   
  
Holmes did the talking while I observed the lobby. The wallpaper was sooty and peeling. The electric chandelier handing from the ceiling was cracked in several places and wasn't lit. A wide curving staircase began at the front door, wrapped halfway around the room and met its twin above the front desk. Behind the desk was a pegboard, on which the room keys were hung. Most of the hooks held two keys, but the spot marked "215" held only one. The manager was making difficulties about giving up any information, mainly because it was clear we weren't staying.   
  
"My hotel had a reputation for confidentiality. I can't just go and tell you everything I know about my guests, you're not even the police."   
  
Holmes began to say something but I cut him off. "How much do you want for the information?" I asked.   
  
He looked surprised at my bluntness but promptly replied. "Five pounds." I looked to Holmes, who sighed and counted out the sum. The manager examined it and placed it in his pocket.  
  
"A girl and a man came in two days ago. Girl was real pregnant, the man looked like a doctor type. They paid for the room for a week. Gave me a letter to send along and I haven't seen anyone out of that room since." He rattled off the information in a business like fashion.   
  
"Has anyone else gone in?"  
  
"Nope, not a soul that I've seen."  
  
"Thank you."   
  
The manager nodded curtly. As we went up the stairs, Holmes spoke to me. "The only problem that remains is getting into the room."  
  
"I wouldn't say that's a problem." While Holmes had been arguing with the manager, I had wandered to the side of the desk and grabbed the key for #215. I held up the key, which I had hidden in my fist.  
  
"Theft and bribery, all in the same day. Do I want to know about your past?" Holmes chuckled. A sense of humor? That was rather unexpected.  
  
"Probably not." I smiled back. Room 215 was right near the stairs. Holmes pressed his ear to the wood, but shook his head. If they were still in there, they weren't making any noise.  
  
There was nothing for it. I turned the key in the lock and the door swung open to reveal a strange scene. Sitting in a chair reading a paper was a middle aged man. His bag sat open on the dresser, revealing medical equipment. When we entered, he sprang to his feet, scattering papers everywhere. A woman in her twenties lay in the bed, sleepy and no longer pregnant. A tiny newborn lay sleeping in her arms. A third occupant of the room was sitting against the bedstead, facing the door, fast asleep.  
  
It was a moment before anyone spoke. "Mr. Halwell, I presume?" Holmes said dryly. The man on the floor awoke and started at the sight of us in the doorway. The doctor sat down again slowly. "Your colleague, Mr. Underhill became worried after your disappearance. He hired me to find you."  
  
Halwell stared at us a moment more before recovering. "Old Dave, eh? I glad to know someone would miss me." He chuckled. "And who might you be?"  
  
"My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is Miss Aurora Watson." I managed to conceal my surprise. It was kinda sweet of him that he trusted me enough to identify me as a relative of his best friend.  
  
"This here is Dr. Ludwig," The man in the chair nodded at us. "And this is Mrs. Halwell." He said proudly, laying a hand on the woman's shoulder.  
  
"I hope we didn't trouble you too much Mr. Holmes." She said softly. "But my father doesn't approve of our marriage, he doesn't even know about it."  
  
This was enough for Halwell to launch into an explanation of their relationship. The short version is, the girl's (Ellen) father didn't approve of Halwell, and forbid them to get married. So they eloped, and planned to tell the father when Halwell had saved up enough to provide for a family. But with the family coming early, Ellen had to hide her pregnancy. The idea was that Ellen's father wouldn't be quite so pissed when he found out about his first grandson.  
  
With all the loose ends wrapped up, we headed back to Baker Street.   
  
Really, the case hadn't been too hard compared to, say, the Adventure of the Second Stain. But it was surprisingly fun to see Holmes in action. He really did seem more alive when on a case.   
  
I also think this is when Holmes really started to trust me and started to think of me as a member of the household instead of just a visitor. I didn't realize it till later, but I had too. Watson, by the way, was simply delighted to have me as his "niece." He even had me over to meet his wife. I really liked her too. I was becoming a part of Holmes' world.  
  
  
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Question, comments, critisicms, complaints, can be directed to the review button there. Please?  
  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	4. The Agony Columns

Short chapter this time around. Keep those comments coming!  
  
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Chapter Three  
The Agony Columns  
  
Three days later, I was up rather early, or really late, depending on your point of view, and the mail had just arrived. Mail at Baker Street generally consisted of a few requests for help in an investigation, a few reports from various informants, and the odd threat.   
  
As I leafed through the envelopes, one caught my eye. The handwriting was familiar but I couldn't remember where I'd seen it before. It wasn't addressed to anyone in particular, just 221B Baker St. I held it up to the light, but I could only see a slip of paper. Curiosity had always been a big problem with me. When I was five, my older sister told me that little people lived inside radios and I took apart my dad's hundred dollar stereo looking for them. So, it was no surprise when I opened the note.  
  
I slit it open carefully. The flap wasn't sealed with glue but with sealing wax, which broke easily. I was very careful so that I could seal it up later. A single slip of paper fell out with two lines written on it.  
  
"Saw your ad for one Aurora in the Telegraph. May have some info. Be on the 9:30 train from Charing Cross to Reading in the last compartment."  
  
I sat back to think. I smelled a trap. I read it again looking for fresh clues. I saw several small blots in each word, as if whoever was writing was unfamiliar with the pen. The words were also slowly written and the pen had pressed deeply into the delicate paper, like the person had written very carefully to disguise his/her handwriting.  
  
I flipped the letter over to check the back. Nothing. There were no distinguishing marks on the envelope or note. No postmark showed that it had been hand-delivered.   
  
I looked at the ad in the paper. Holmes had posted it the day I had arrived, hoping to find someone to take me off his hands. Needless to say, we hadn't gotten any replies. The ad read like this. "Missing: Young women with dark red hair and green eyes. May be going by the name 'Aurora.' Last seen near the Strand. Anyone with information please write to…" and so on.   
  
I flipped the paper over and back but no new writing appeared. I sat and stared for ten minutes, until the hall clock struck a quarter to nine. The time decided me. I can always get off the train or sit someplace else. They couldn't possibly know me. I thought.  
  
I quickly got some money and told Mrs. Hudson I was going for a very long walk. Forty-five minutes later, I was in the last compartment of a train speeding towards Reading on the outskirts of London. I had two traveling companions, but neither was my contact. One was a harassed looking woman with two toddlers, the other an elderly man too deaf to be bothered by the noise.  
  
The next station was Reading and I had given up on my mysterious contact. Probably just some punk kid, or whatever they were called here, playing a joke. The two screaming kids hadn't improved my temper any, so I was fuming when I got up to leave. In my haste, I knocked in to someone else entering the compartment. Without looking at him, I shoved past, but a voice stopped me.  
  
"Whoa there Onyx, don't hurt yourself."  
  
"Wes?"  
  
"The very same." Wes chuckled and held out his arms, looking like a human tree. I smacked him across the face, gently.  
  
"You big oaf! You trying to give me a heart attack?" I hugged him, though, overwhelmed with joy at seeing him again.   
  
"Where have you been? What happened? What are you doing here? Where are you staying? How did you find me? How did we get here? Never mind, don't answer that." Wes blinked in confusion, then shook his head to get his thoughts moving again.  
  
"Look. I can explain everything. But not here." Wes put an arm around my shoulders and guided me to the door. The train was pulling into the station. "I know this place, the coffee is actually drinkable."  
  
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Question, comments, critisicms, complaints, can be directed to the review button there. Please?  
  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	5. The Interview

This one's been a long time in coming. I had an attack of real life and was thus distracted from my writing. And now, on with the show.  
  
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Chapter Four  
The Interview  
  
Coffee was one of those foods the British just could not get right. Something about it offended the national palate. We were seated in the station's café. The stuff they served here, though, was actually drinkable, not the usual black sludge. We took a table in the corner, from where we could see the rest of the restaurant.   
  
"Okay let's start from the beginning. How did we get here?" Wes shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  
  
"It's complicated. I got approached for a commission about a year ago. The problem was, what he wanted me to steal was too well protected for me to steal then." He looked up at me nervously, expecting disbelief. He got it.  
  
"You sent yourself back in time for a job!" I managed to keep from yelling. All this time I'd been worried about him and it was his fault!  
  
"Basically, yeah. The guy who built it never got the targeting scanner or something right, so it was supposed to take me from a certain place and time and put me in a certain place and time. But the aim was off, so it got you too." Wes shrugged. "That's how I knew you were here. The guys who were supposed to meet me found you." He chuckled. "They called you a 'she-devil.'"  
  
I couldn't help chuckling at the thought of those thugs whining to their boss about being beat up by a girl.  
  
"So, essentially, you were a guinea pig for this time machine?" I scolded.  
  
"Well, there's this other guy who is the intermediary between the guy in our time and the guy here. I think they are family or something. And there's my partner." Wes said the last part without thinking and immediately regretted it.  
  
"Partner?" Now I was really mad. Wes and I had always worked together. Always.   
  
"I wanted to bring you in on it, I really did. But it's a two man job and there is already another guy."  
  
"Who?" I nearly growled.  
  
Wes hesitated, then muttered. "Aden Scott."  
  
"The Aden Scott? Aden 'the Jackal' Scott? Have you lost it?" The Jackal was one of the most feared criminals of the age, not because of his skill but because of his cruelty. His crimes were generally marked by a trail of bodies. The Jackal would kill you as soon as work with you and he often did both. There was rarely honor among thieves but there were certain lines you just didn't cross.  
  
"Yeah, I know. That's why I want you there. He'll have a hard time killing me with Onyx watching my back." Wes could really turn on the charm when he wanted to, and it was working, damn him.  
  
"Flattery will get you nowhere." I said seriously. "You could just walk away."  
  
"So they can exile me in the 19th century? I'd rather take my chances. Please Aurora? You know I wouldn't have taken it if I knew, I just found out when I got here who I'd be working with." The look on his face was pitiful. I felt my resolution swaying. Wes was like my little brother, I couldn't just abandon him.   
  
"What's the job?" Wes shifted uncomfortably again. "You know I hate it when you get that look." I sighed.  
  
Wes paused and looked over his shoulder. "To steal the Crown Jewels."   
  
I sat back, stunned. Wes had done some pretty stupid things in his life, but this topped the charts. "The Crown Jewels? The British Crown Jewels? Now I know you've gone insane."  
  
"No, it'll be easy. 21st century technology against 19th century security. There's no way they could stop us."  
  
"That's not what I mean. Those Jewels are public property. Do you know how much trouble you're going to cause if you succeed? Besides, you could never sell them, no one in their right mind would buy them. And melted down you would get a fraction of the value."  
  
"Our modern client has a scheme that will allow him to acquire them legally. The take is fifty million pounds, paid by our modern client on delivery." Wes nearly pleaded.  
  
"What good does fifty million do if you've been killed by the Jackal?" I said sharply  
  
"Look you're either in or you're out." Wes took out a business card and handed it to me. There was just an address, no name. "This is where I'm staying. It goes down Friday, nine o'clock sharp." Wes stood and began to walk away.  
  
"Just out of curiosity, who's sponsoring this little endeavor?" I called. Wes stopped and turned.   
  
"I don't think it's his real name, but he calls himself Moriarty." He said and disappeared into the crowd.  
  
"Moriarty." I muttered to myself. "Huh. Figures."  
  
  
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.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	6. The Long Journey Home

Last chapter was a little short so I figured I'd post two at once today.  
  
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Chapter Five  
Long Journey Home  
  
I sat at the train station café for awhile, thinking about what Wes had just said. Fifty million pounds for a single night's work was definitely tempting. But the Jackal was a very big deterrent. But if I left Wes on his own he would probably get killed, or at least arrested. Somehow, I thought that arresting a guy before he was even born would create major problems. Today was Thursday, so I had a day to decide.   
  
I knew I shouldn't get involved. I knew that it was asking for trouble. Problem was, I'm always looking for trouble.  
  
Eventually I became aware that I was being watched. I continued to stare into the distance, but watched a certain man out of the corner of my eye. He was reading a train schedule, but he hadn't moved in ten minutes, hadn't even looked up.  
  
"Great, this is all I need today." I muttered to myself. I paid the check and got up to leave, pretending nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I walked past the man without glancing at him and went into the train station. As soon as I cleared the doors, I stood in a small niche between the doors and the wall. A few seconds later, my watcher came through, train schedule tucked under his arm.  
  
He stopped a few feet inside the door and looked around. I stepped forward and grabbed the schedule. Sherlock Holmes turned to face me, surprised and annoyed.   
  
"You!" I cried, angrily. "How dare you!" I waved the schedule around to emphasize my point. "I think I deserve better than to be followed around like one of your criminals!" I was yelling loud enough to attract the attention of passersby. A few people stopped and stared.  
  
"Quiet!" Holmes said, just as angrily but much quieter. "If you're going to make a scene you might as well do it in private."  
  
He had a point, much as I hated to admit it. I settled for an fierce glare and a growled "Fine." Holmes had booked a private compartment back into London. We sat in silence for most of the trip. I couldn't figure out how to talk to him without sounding like a sullen teenager caught sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night.  
  
Holmes broke the silence. He tossed the letter I had received to me. "It wasn't hard to find you. Why did you leave in secret?"  
  
"I didn't leave in secret." I snapped a bit more harshly than I intended. "I told Mrs. Hudson I was going out." A half-truth at best and we both knew it.  
  
"I am beginning to regret my trust in you." Ouch. That really hurt. Despite being on the other side of law and order, I was beginning to like Holmes. And not like like. (I think.) "You seem to be more trouble than the rest of my acquaintances put together."  
  
"That's not to hard." I muttered and immediately regretted it. Whenever I got mad, that little part of my brain that made sure I didn't say anything stupid went on a coffee break.  
  
Holmes continued without seeming to notice. "I spoke with the American authorities in Brooklyn. They have no record of any woman named Aurora ever living there. Your past seems to be coming back to haunt you, and I want to know about it."  
  
I was saved from answering by our arrival in London. Not that I knew how to explain the fact that I had traveled back in time about a century because of a malfunctioning time machine that just happened to transport two other thieves here to steal the Crown Jewels. Just thinking about it gave me a headache.  
  
"Well?" Holmes asked in the cab. I still couldn't think of anything to say so I kept my mouth shut. Holmes didn't have any answer for that so we sat in angry silence for the rest of the trip. Watson was out seeing to his professional practice and was actually not around much, so the house was empty when we arrived.  
  
"Alright fine." I said suddenly. I couldn't just leave it like this. " You want to know the truth. I'll tell you. But remember, you asked." I took a deep breath.  
  
"My real name is Nancy Harland, but you won't find any record of her either. I am from Brooklyn, New York, just not this Brooklyn, New York. I was born in 1975 and I am 27 years old." I paused to let Holmes do the math. For once in his life, he was actually shocked speechless. "My friend and I, the guy from the train station, were brought here as the result of a botched experiment with a time machine. The reason I didn't tell you is because you would have thought that bump on the head had knocked the sense out of me."  
  
I took a deep breath and waited for it. "How do I know that this isn't some fantastic tale to distract me from your real past?" That's my Holmes. He did have a point, aside from some clothes I didn't have any proof.   
  
"You're just going to have to trust me." I shrugged.   
  
"Why should I trust a thief?" Holmes shot back. It takes a lot to catch me by surprise. I was absolutely floored.  
  
"How could you possibly..." I said without thinking, sounding like a total ditz.  
  
"Your experience with fighting. Your ability at slight of hand. Your attitude and personality. Your skill at deception. Your nonexistent background. Your utter disregard for authority. And the newly made hole in the floor which contains a large pearl. Mrs. Hudson was furious when she found it." Holmes listed the points, growing more amused as he went on. He was never happier than when he was dropping the roof in on someone. "All point to a single conclusion, a professional thief."  
  
"Well," I said, torn between anger and amusement. "Are you going to turn me in?"   
  
"I should find it hard seeing as how that pearl has not yet been discovered, much less stolen." Holmes smiled. I kept from collapsing back in my chair with relief. "Your actions thus far have been," he paused for effect, "noble. I see no reason we cannot work together."  
  
"Deal."  
  
  
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.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	7. The Plan

I'm not doing well at all with this whole school/writing bit. ::sigh:: Anyway...  
  
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Chapter Six  
The Plan  
  
Holmes had started on another of his damned chemistry experiments. He was very good at it, and had never actually blown anything up on accident, but it still made me nervous. I would always remember the day my lab partner mixed silver nitrate with hydrochloric acid and I spent the night in the ER, with the rest of Chem 201. I always took a walk when did those experiments.  
  
I had decided that I had to try and talk Wes out of this heist. At the very least I could watch his back, and make sure he didn't turn up in a local morgue.  
  
I stood across the street from the address Wes had given me. It was an ordinary looking house on Tooley Street, right across the Thames from the Tower of London. I pretended to rest in the shade of a building while I checked for followers, namely Holmes. It was a fairly hot day, especially with this stupid dress on.   
  
I decided that no one had followed me and I crossed the street and rang the bell. The door was opened almost immediately by the man who had led the attack on me in the alley. "What do you want?" He sneered, obviously not recognizing me.   
  
"To speak with Wes." I said condescendingly. The little man frowned but didn't move. "Look you little weasel," I snapped. " I want to talk with Wes and you can't stop me." I shoved past him. He started after me, but halted at the sound of Wes' voice.  
  
"Aurora! I knew you'd come." He threw an arm around my shoulder. "This is gonna be great. We were just finalizing our plan." He led me upstairs, leaving Dog standing in the entrance hall like an idiot.  
  
The inside of the house was far from ordinary. There were no furnishings anywhere on the lower floor. Upstairs there was a large room with a table and some chairs, every available surface was covered with blueprints or tools. I assume that there were some beds around here but I never saw them.   
  
The only other occupant of the house, Aden "The Jackal" Scott was bent over a blueprint. His bright red (or blood-red as he liked to say) hair was the only distinctive feature about him. He was average height and build and his features were easily forgettable. He smiled viciously as we entered. He did pretty much everything viciously. "Hola, bienvendios Aurora. Or Onyx?" He said in a light Spanish accent. I groaned internally. He was from Montana.   
  
"Onyx will do." I said calmly.  
  
"Onyx, I am The Jackal. But my friends call me The." He chuckled again at his own joke.  
  
"Okay, if you two are finished with the banter and pose, we need to go over this." Wes interrupted, waving a hand at the table. He unrolled a blueprint of the Tower.  
  
"At nine, we meet and get ready. At ten we head across the river and station ourselves here." He pointed to a place right outside the Tower walls. "The guards check in with each other every fifteen minutes. The guard here checks in at exactly 9:15. At 9:16, we knock him out with one of these." Wes held out a container of six tranquilizer darts. I recognized them from another time we had used them. They would send an average sized man to sleep for about a half-hour.  
  
"This entrance leads into a back staircase which is patrolled by another guard. The second dart is for him. Now, the Jewels are kept in a room that is partitioned by an iron cage. The Jewels are accessed through a door in the back of the room. That door leads into the back room. There should be two more guards in there. We take the door off its hinges and we're in. This should all take about five minutes. We have two minutes to load all the Jewels into those." Wes pointed to several trunks. One was open and I could see that they were lines with foam to protect the Jewels. "Two more minutes to get out of the Tower and we have about six minutes to get as far as we can."  
  
"We'll be doing recon tonight. Onyx, you're our driver, we have a cab and horse ready to go. We'll walk over, and you'll drive up with Martin at exactly, the guy downstairs, and let him out here." He pointed across the street from the Tower's north wall. "We'll jump in and take the scenic route home."  
  
  
I shook my head but didn't say anything. Dog/Martin picked this moment to interrupt. "S'cuse me, guv'nor. But th' Professor's here ta see ya."   
  
I turned to see Professor Moriarty framed in the doorway. He didn't look like much of a criminal mastermind. He looked more like a walking skeleton, pale and emaciated. But his eyes glittered with intelligence and malevolence.   
  
"Ah, the third member of our party has arrived I see." His voice was cold and silky, he reminded me of a serpent. He seemed to be cultivating that sort of image. "Do you think that she is up to it?" He asked Wes.  
  
"Yes, she is." I snapped. Moriarty chuckled, pleased.  
  
"Well then, if everything is in order, I look forward to seeing you on Saturday morning. The money will be delivered then. I trust only two cheques need to be made out." His way of asking if I expected a cut of the money.  
  
"Yep." Wes nodded firmly.   
  
Moriarty paused ever so slightly to glare at the Jackal. He matched him glare for glare. "But remember, if you are caught, there will be no connection between you and me. Understand?"   
  
"Right, don't get caught. We'll remember that." The Jackal said smoothly.  
  
"Sarcasm is not a good quality in a hired hand." Before Aden could reply, Moriarty had left. The old guy was quick.   
  
"You heard him, Aden. Keep your mouth shut." Wes said sharply. The Jackal didn't say anything. He sat and began cleaning his gun.   
  
"I should get back before I'm missed." I said. Wes walked with me to the door.   
  
"The party starts at 8:00 tonight." He said on the doorstep.   
  
"Look," I said after checking for listeners, "Are you sure you want to do this? I know this guy, he can help you lay low."   
  
Wes shook his head, and my heart dropped. "Until when? Like I told you, I don't want to be exiled in the 19th century."  
  
Looked like I would have to go through with this, if only to keep my partner in one piece. "I'm not in this for the money. I'm in this to keep my partner safe. Don't turn your back on him." I glanced at the ceiling to make my point. For once Wes didn't have a witty retort. He nodded, and to his surprise as much as mine, he hugged me.  
  
"Bye." And I found myself on the doorstep as the sunset faded away.  
  
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.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	8. The Narrative of Dr John Watson

Shoot me. Or shoot my computer. Then I could replace it with something that actually works. The perils of living on a budget. Anyway ol' Dr. Watson gets his turn in this chapter and things being to move towards the big finish! :bows at the massive wave of appaluse:: Thank you, thank you.  
  
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Chapter Seven  
Narrative of Dr. John Watson  
  
In days following the arrival of Miss Aurora, I was kept occupied by my medical practice. I had heard of the matter of the coded letter and Aurora's help in solving the matter. My wife had left town for a few days to visit with some friends in the country, so I decided to pay a visit to Baker Street.   
  
Holmes greeted me in the abstracted manner which usually meant he was deep in thought over some new dilemma.   
  
"You are on a case?" I asked.  
  
Holmes chuckled. "You know me too well, Watson. The problem which engages my attention is the origin of our fair visitor." Holmes frowned at the empty hearth. "Infuriating woman. She is tangled up in something and she refuses to say what."   
  
I listened as Holmes described the events of the morning, the confrontation at the train station and Holmes' researches into Aurora's past. "This man she met, she knows him in some capacity but her explanation of events is so fantastical…" Holmes trailed off. I waited to hear what this strange explanation could be but he said nothing.  
  
"What explanation does she give?" I prompted  
  
"Utter foolishness. And yet it is the only one that covers all the facts, improbable as it is."  
  
I gave up on that front. "Where is she now?" I asked, I hadn't seen any evidence of her in the house.  
  
Holmes frowned again. "She disappeared into the night. I was working on my experiment," Holmes gestured at the row of chemicals and beakers, one of which was still bubbling over a small flame, "and she never returned. If I weren't confident in her ability to defend herself I would be worried about her."  
  
"You aren't worried?" I asked.  
  
"Of course I am," Holmes answered, speaking mainly to himself. "Infuriating as she is, I have grown accustomed to her presence. I…"  
  
He broke off as the sound of footsteps on the stairs reached us. Aurora appeared in the doorway, looking both annoyed and distracted.   
  
"Aurora…" Holmes began, but she jumped at being addressed. She didn't seem to have noticed us until Holmes spoke.   
  
"Stuff the interrogation would you? It's been a long night." She didn't so much sit as slouch into a chair. Holmes didn't flinch at the gruff reply.  
  
"Have you spoken with your friend again?" He asked.  
  
"Wes?" She scoffed. "Yeah, that stubborn git…" She muttered.  
  
"Watson has come to stay for the night." Holmes stated. Aurora nodded but didn't answer.  
  
The beaker on the flame began to steam, and Holmes went over to turn down the flame and record some observations. Aurora frowned ever so slightly. I made a mental note to ask her why she was so adverse to chemistry experiments.   
  
It also gave me the opportunity to reflect on the similarities between Holmes and our visitor. They were both strong-willed, intelligent people with a certain thirst for adventure. And several of my adventures with Holmes had shown me that it was a short step between detective and criminal.   
  
The bell rang, startling us all. Mrs. Hudson answered it and came up with a note for Holmes. He scanned it quickly. "I must go, a case has come up." He said, and was gone before either of us could protest.  
  
Aurora frowned. "I don't get the man." She said suddenly.  
  
"What?" I replied bewildered by the statement.  
  
"Sometimes it's like he trusts me and it's all cool, then he gets all distant and broody. I don't get him."  
  
"Perhaps if you weren't so…alike, you wouldn't be in constant conflict." I pointed out.  
  
"Don't you go match-making now, Watson." Aurora chuckled. "I have enough to deal with without adding a love affair to the mix."  
  
I was slightly surprised at the way she had been following my thoughts. A very Holmes-like thing to do.  
  
  
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.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	9. The Illustrious Client

Eh. I can't think of an author's note. Just pretend I said something clever.  
  
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Chapter Eight  
The Illustrious Client  
  
Reconnaissance at the Tower had gone smoothly. I was disguised as an anonymous London cabbie. My part was the most boring. Mainly I stood on the corner and turned down people who wanted to go somewhere on the grounds that I was waiting for someone in the house I was parked in front of.   
  
Wes and The Jackal had looked rather ruffled when they showed up, a full minute late. Wes explained that the guard had come back early and they had to wait for him to leave. The only productive thing I did was think up a name for our rented horse (Tala).   
  
It was only midnight when I returned to Baker Street to find Watson and Holmes waiting up for me. They'd given me a lot to think about, as if I didn't have enough stuff running around in my head already. I didn't fall asleep until around three in the morning, only to be awakened at seven by the sunlight streaming through my window.  
  
I lay there a moment to reorganize my thoughts. It was Friday morning, I had found Wes and I had an appointment to steal the Crown Jewels at nine o'clock.   
  
Holmes walked in around ten and disappeared into his room without a word. The mysterious telegram was evidently important if he stayed out all night because of it. Mrs. Hudson wasn't any help. All she could tell us about the deliverer was that he was a youngish man, well dressed.   
  
Around eleven, the bell rang downstairs. Almost immediately, three men were shown in to the sitting room. They could have been father and son. One was tall with sandy blond hair. He was about middle-aged and in good shape. The older man's hair was completely white, though still intact. He carried himself with an air of authority that was helped by the stately cane he had mainly for show.   
  
The usual pleasantries were exchanged and people introduced. I was getting sick of that mildly shocked look I kept getting when I insisted on being treated as an equal. Mr. Holden(older guy) and Mr. Miller(younger guy) took a seat.   
  
"I am glad you agreed to meet us Mr. Holmes. This is a matter of national importance." Again, he looked sidelong at me. Holmes caught it before I could say anything. Good thing too, I might have offended him by telling him off.  
  
"Dr. Watson is quite trustworthy. Miss Watson has also assisted with my investigations. A woman often has insight where the male intellect fails." He said smoothly. Miller had the grace to look embarrassed, but I decided to have a few words with Holmes about the oxymoron that is male intelligence.  
  
"A matter of national importance." Holden broke in. "The Crown Jewels have been threatened and we have reason to believe that the threat has not passed."  
  
You know that feeling in your stomach you get when a roller coaster goes down that first really big hill? Well, that times twenty is what I felt when he said Crown Jewels. Why is it my life always goes down in a flaming wreck?  
  
Holmes nodded. "I received a telegram from my brother. He gave me enough information to do a preliminary investigation." So that's where he was all night.  
  
Mr. Holden nodded and looked pleased. "I hope you don't mind if we go over all that we know. For the benefit of your colleagues." He gave a meaningful glance to his younger partner.  
  
Miller took out a notebook and began reciting from his notes. "Two men was caught breaking in to the Tower of London last night. A Yeoman of the Guard caught one of them, but the man broke away after a struggle. He injured the guard with a knife quite seriously. Another of the guards witnessed the struggle but was too far away to be of any help. He did give a description of the incident."   
  
"About a quarter after midnight on the evening of May 29 the guard, Joseph Alden, heard a yell for help. He was stationed on the wall that encircles the Tower Green. He ran toward the source of the cry and saw a man engaged in a struggle with the guard and a third man trying to pull his partner away. The struggle lasted only a few moments, but Alden committed everything he could to memory."  
  
"The intruder who injured the guard was about 5'6" and dressed entirely in black. Some effort had been made to darken his hair, which was a violent, unnatural shade of red. The other intruder was 5'9", also dressed in black, and his hair appeared to be bleached blond with dark roots. He was of a rugged facial type and appeared to have a silver earring in his left ear."  
  
I winced internally. That was about as accurate of a description of Wes as you were likely to get. Holmes' face had gone impassive, his eyes flickered over toward me, then back to Miller. He gave no sign of having recognized Wes' description.   
  
"What makes you believe that they will make another attempt on the Jewels?" Holmes asked quietly.  
  
"The Jewels will be moved tomorrow for cleaning and restoration. These men seemed to be acting on very good information, they knew all the exits and all the guard posts. There is evidence of them inside of the Tower, footprints and the like."  
  
"And what do you wish me to do?" Holmes asked. "It would seem that you should move the Jewels now."  
  
"We can't!" Miller broke in angrily. "There is no other place in the Tower in which they can be kept safe and the jeweler won't arrive until the day the jewels are moved." Miller was taking this rather hard. I decided that he must part of the Tower Guards.   
  
"We have already doubled the guard and placed guard right next to the Jewels' case, but we wish you to come down and see the crime scene for yourself. Perhaps you will find something that will lead to these thieves." Mr. Holden said, unperturbed by his friend's outburst.   
  
Holmes agreed and we all went down to the Tower of London. I felt terrible, like I had broken Holmes' trust. I was trying to stop the whole thing, damn it!   
  
The one time I hadn't stolen anything, and I felt worse than all the rest of my jobs put together. I couldn't look at Holmes, which I'm sure just convinced him I was guilty.   
  
At the Tower, we got the full tour, from the room where the Jewels were kept to the place where the Jackal had fought the guard. While Holmes examined the churned up mud, I looked around at the walls and tried to keep from committing the layout to memory.   
  
Holmes interviewed Alden, who corroborated the story that Holden had told us. I tried not to laugh at his outfit, a red renaissance-type getup which was outdated even for this century. At last, Holmes was satisfied and we returned to Baker Street.   
  
He left again without saying a word, presumably to consult with the Irregulars, and leaving me thoroughly confused. Was he mad? Was he upset? Was he going to have me arrested? All very good questions, especially that last one there.   
  
I paced around for awhile, then went to my room to pace some more. Holmes knew about the planned robbery, and would be there tonight. Wes was not very good at planning heists, that was my job. I was the brains, he was the brawn. Not that he was stupid, in our line of work stupid got you five to ten years of free rent in federal prison. The Jackal wasn't any better. And if he got caught, he'd knife anyone who got near him. If I didn't talk them out of this now, I might lose Wes and Holmes, the only two guys I actually cared about.   
  
  
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Question, comments, critisicms, complaints, can be directed to the review button there. Please review!  
  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	10. Locked Doors and Great Escapes

Thank you, thank you, thank you! to all the people who reviewed! Especially to Anneliese, who has single-handedly doubled the number of reviews. Only two or three more chapters to go before "To Catch A Thief" is brought to its thrilling conclusion!  
  
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Chapter Nine  
Locked Doors and Great Escapes  
  
7:30. Friday night. Holmes had come back a few minutes ago. A few minutes later, the reinforcements arrived. Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson of Scotland Yard, who were flanking Mr. Holden.   
  
"Everything is ready at the Tower, Mr. Holmes." Mr. Holden said. "But it would set my mind at ease if you were there as well." Lestrade and Gregson appeared to ignore the implied insult to their men.  
  
Holmes nodded. "I have made my own arrangements as well. Watson," Holmes looked over at Watson who had an open newspaper on his lap. He'd been reading the same page for about an hour. Watson didn't deal with tension very well. "Would you care to join us?"  
  
Not bothering to give the obvious answer, Watson stood. I stood as well. I didn't expect Holmes to invite a never convicted felon along on a stakeout. I intended to go to my room and get ready to sneak out.  
  
"Miss Aurora, Sergeant Adams will be staying here with you tonight." Holmes said smoothly.  
  
"What?" I yelled, standing up.   
  
"Adams will be keeping an eye on you." Holmes repeated patiently. "I still haven't ruled you out as an accomplice."  
  
I was pissed. While logically I knew Holmes was too smart to let a known thief go unwatched during the greatest jewel heist of all time, I still had thought that he wouldn't do this. While this didn't really interfere with my plans for tonight, it was the principal of the thing.  
  
I sat back, not bothering to hide how mad I was. It was probably better if Holmes thought he was foiling my plans. Sensing the tension in the room, everyone but Holmes beat a retreat. After a moment, Holmes turned to leave.  
  
"Wait," I said, a sudden thought occurring to me. "The guy with the red hair, he's dangerous. Be careful, will ya?"  
  
Holmes simply nodded and left. Sergeant Adams, looked rather embarrassed and annoyed. He obviously didn't think I was much of a threat. Oh well, he'd have to learn the hard way.   
  
I went to the window, as if to watch the cab drive off. The street was relatively deserted, and I took note of anyone who was just standing around. Turning away, I picked up the paper Watson had dropped and scanned the page he'd been stuck on. Five minutes later, I stood and paced restlessly. I looked out the window for a few moments and saw that two men were in the same places that I'd seen them in earlier. One was lurking in the shadows across the street, the other was a uniformed police officer, standing on the street corner.   
  
Satisfied, I shook my head, as if my internal thoughts were still on being forced to stay behind. Adams had sat uneasily near doorway the entire time. I went down the hall to my room and was surprised to see Adams get up and follow me.   
  
"Begging your pardon Miss, but I was told to keep you in my sight at all times." He said apologetically.  
  
"I'm going to get ready for bed." I said haughtily.   
  
"Oh, uh" Adams shifted his weight nervously. "I'll be right out here then."  
  
I left him standing in the hall, probably wondering what he had done to get stuck with this assignment. I hadn't lied, I was going to get ready for bed, just not for another hour or three. I quickly changed into the outfit I had arrived in. That first night seemed so long ago.   
  
There was only one problem. My top was white. Not bad under other circumstances, but tonight it would stand out like a beacon in the night. All I had in my closet here was dresses, not very helpful. But there was a closet full of shirts in the room next door.   
  
I slid open the window. Holmes' window was about ten feet over from mine. I glanced around the alley to make sure there was no one around. As I stepped out on the windowsill, a voice nearly gave me a heart attack.  
  
"Alright in there miss?" Adams asked.  
  
"Yes." I managed to answer in a nonchalant and slightly annoyed voice. At least he wasn't a total idiot.  
  
I stood on the windowsill and reached up to grab the overhang of the roof. It was only five feet up from the window and easy to grasp. I shimmied along the edge for the necessary ten feet before I landed on Holmes windowsill. Now for the tricky part.   
  
Holmes was a rather paranoid person, and with good reason. I knew his window would be locked even though it was on the second floor. A bolt on the inside secured the window. That was about as secure as you could get in this century, but I had picked harder locks to read my sister's diary.  
  
I removed the lock-pick set from it's hidden pocket in my jacket. I selected a paper-thin knife and slid it under the crack between the frame and the window, pushing the bolt back. Holmes' room was neat and orderly compared to the sitting room, but it was still kinda messy. By the fading light I found the closet and selected the darkest shirt I could find. I threw it on, not bothering to button it up. Then I stood back and let the pure insanity of the situation wash over me.  
  
I was in Sherlock Holmes' bedroom. I had just stolen one of his shirts and was about to participate in the crime of the century, maybe of the millenium. The beginnings of a stress headache were starting to form, but I ignored them.   
  
I climbed out the way I had come in closing the window behind me. I was back in my room in less than five minutes. I quickly put the "borrowed" shirt on properly and made a quick survey of the room. I had everything I needed.  
  
"Miss?" Adams asked.  
  
"Still here." I said, in an exasperated tone.   
  
With Adams satisfied of my continued existence, I slipped back out the window, closing it behind me. I dropped lightly to the ground and did my best to disappear into the London night. There was too much risk involved in taking a cab, more risk to the cabby than myself, so I had to stick to the shadows and the back streets, making my way to Tooley Street.  
  
I knew exactly where I was going, having walked to Tooley Street before. But the darkness and my need to stay in the shadows made it more difficult. I arrived at the flat to see no signs of life, just as a nearby clock tower struck nine o'clock.   
  
I cursed not so silently. I was too late. It would take me another ten minutes just to get across the river. The idea struck me that, for some incredible reason, Wes and the Jackal might not have left yet. I hurried around back to see if the door was unlocked.   
  
It wasn't, of course, but I found a note from Wes tacked to the back door. Wes and I met in college, Egyptian Anthropology 401. It wasn't written in English, but Egyptian hieroglyphics, something we'd both learned in that class. Translated, it read:  
  
A-  
Show went on without you. Tala is still in the barn, we go on foot. Martin will meet us in Hyde Park at dawn.  
-W  
  
Damn. They'd gone on without me. The original plan had called for them to catch a cab outside the Tower, which would be difficult given the hour. I had been an extra safety measure. Wait a second, they'd left Tala. I could still catch up.  
  
The house on Tooley Street had once belonged to a rich man who had kept a few horses for his private carriage in town. The tiny stable still stood in the back. Tala raised her head and whickered inquisitively when I entered. She was still harnessed from preparations earlier this evening. I felt a surge of anger for however had left her hooked up with the cab. The events of the evening had confused her equine mind. She wanted something that she could understand, and was only too glad to trot across the river to the Tower.  
  
The cabman disguise was still in the cab. I threw on the overcoat and hat, hoping no one would look too close at me. We hit the other side of the river just as the clock struck quarter after nine. I pulled up at the gate, there was no time for subtlety.   
  
The guard, two of them actually, were out cold, sleeping off the effects of the tranquilizer. I threw the cabman's overcoat and hat into the cab. They would only get in the way. The chilly May evening air struck me suddenly. I hadn't noticed the cold, probably just nerves. I tied up Tala's reins so she wouldn't stray and dashed through the Tower gate.   
  
The gate was actually a back entrance with fewer guards because few knew about it. There was a strip of grass about fifty feet wide separating the Tower and the outer wall. After a quick glance around for sentries, I dashed across the lawn. I paused to catch my breath and noticed a set of boots sticking out of the bushes. "Three darts down", I thought to myself.  
  
I found a fourth guard on the first landing, a fifth on the third landing. "Trail of bodies." My own words echoed back to me. Thankfully, these men weren't dead, but they would wake with headaches bad enough to make them wish they were.  
  
On the fourth landing, the door stood slightly open. I pushed it all the way and entered the room behind the display case of the British Royal Crown Jewels. I took everything in with a quick scan of the room. It was square in shape. Directly across from me was a door that led to the main building. To my left a large window, and to my right, a iron door set into a brick wall. That door also hung open, allowing a glimpse into the now empty room with its desolate pedestals.  
  
One the floor lay three guards who had been knocked cold, one by tranquilizer, the other two with concussions. A fourth man, entirely in black, also lay on the floor.  
  
"Wes!" I rushed over to him. He groaned when I turned him onto his back. A good sign, sorta. "Wes? C'mon buddy, don't do this to me now." I shook him by the shoulders. He opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times, tried to say something and passed out again. I had to get him awake, there was no way I could carry him out of here.  
  
In the heat of the moment, I had totally forgotten about Aden. Not for long though. After they had packed away all the jewels, the Jackal had taken Wes by surprise, knocking him out. The two doorways were identical at first glance and Aden had rushed down the wrong one, to his dismay and the great surprise of the half-dozen police officers at the bottom of the stairs.   
  
He fired a few wild shots, which pretty much alerted everyone. It also got my brain back in gear. I looked around wildly for something to hit him over the head with, but unlike in the movies, there was no convenient vase to smash over his head. A table and some chairs, nothing else.   
  
He burst into the room with the wild and distracted look of a hunted animal. He bolted the door and backed away, firing two more shots into the wood. The door was too thick for the bullets to penetrate, but it did make his pursuers think twice about breaking in.   
  
At first, he didn't notice me, he was too busy bolting the doors. I searched Wes in hopes of finding a gun, but his trademark Smith & Wesson was missing.  
  
"Looking for this?"   
  
I whirled around to see the Jackal standing there with Wes' gun in his slimy hands.  
  
Let me pause for a second. Most modern handguns carry a thirteen round clip. Wes, however, carried the type of gun made famous by John Wayne, a six-shooter. This meant that since he had fired two shots into the door and three or four at the police downstairs, he might be out of ammo. Was it three or four? I thought frantically. It was a very important question. I thought it was four, but how much of that was just wishful thinking?  
  
"Stand up." Aden ordered. He obviously thought he had a few rounds left. I stood slowly, hands raised, mind racing.   
  
BANG!  
  
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Don't you just hate me now? I love a good cliffhanger. It's like a roller coaster right before you go down that first hill and you're regretting the insane impluse that made you get on in the first place, but you can't stop now because your curiosity must be satisfied!   
  
Question, comments, critisicms, complaints, can be directed to the review button there. Please?  
  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	11. The Calvary Arrives

Alright, I'll let snowwolf off now. But just because I'm a nice person. That, and I really want to get this story posted. We're on the home stretch now.  
  
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Chapter Ten  
The Calvary Arrives  
  
BANG!  
  
The police outside the door rammed it again, the noise echoing through the Tower like a giant knocking. Aden didn't flinch, or appear to notice it at all.   
  
"Come to the rescue, have you?" Aden growled. Well, yeah, but I wasn't going to tell him that. I settled for a haughty stare. "We'll be leavin' together you and I."  
  
BANG!  
  
"Not bloody likely." I snapped back.  
  
BANG! The bolt finally gave way and the battered door swung open. There was a pause for a fraction of a second while everyone's brain processed this event. In retrospect, it was almost funny. Aden stood only an arm length away; gun pointed right at my chest. The landing outside the door was crowded with at least six or seven men, and the first one through the door was (duh) Sherlock Holmes. Aden recovered from the shock first and reacted by turning me into a human shield.  
  
"Nobody move!" He screamed. Of course, everyone did, by raising their guns and aiming them at Aden. Which really means they were all aiming at me. I was seriously considering a career change.  
  
"Calm down, now." Holmes said reasonably. "Nothing to be gained by all of us killing each other." He took a step forward, with his hands raised to show he didn't have a weapon. He would have made a good hostage negotiator.   
  
"Let the lady go. There is no escape. You could kill her, but then we would just shoot you." Okay, maybe not so good.  
  
"Oh I think there is." Aden answered. For ever step forward Holmes had taken, Aden had stepped back, dragging me with him. At that point, he used his free hand to open the door I had come in. All this time I had been trying to think up a plan and had come up with zilch, but when that door opened, the proverbial light bulb went off.  
  
As he stepped backward, I kicked at his leg. He tripped and fell, his gun hand flailing wildly. Unfortunately, he still had a pretty good grip on me and I fell on top of him. Aden's final bullet exited its chamber and ricocheted around the room for seven-tenths of a second before lodging itself in the doorframe.   
  
Aden was back on his feet in moments, about to make a dash for safety. I grabbed his ankle and he fell flat on his face. A very pissed Jackal turned to attack me, but he didn't get very far before the Calvary caught up and pulled us apart. Holmes helped me to my feet while three policemen put cuffs on Aden.   
  
Holmes didn't say anything. He just gave me The Look. I woulda given an awful lot to know what was going through his head.  
  
"You'll never put me away!" The Jackal yelled, still putting up a fight, despite the handcuffs and the two very muscular police officers that hauled him to his feet.   
  
"I'll get you for this bitch!" God, he sounded like a bad movie. The police stiffened at the insult. People took their chivalry seriously in this century. I'm not exactly sure why I did it, maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the fact that he really pissed me off.   
  
I took one step forward and decked him with a right cross to the jaw.   
  
  
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Question, comments, critisicms, complaints, can be directed to the review button there. Please?  
  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	12. The End or The Beginning

Once again I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, it really makes my day. I keep saying this, but I am almost done, there are only twelve chapters to the story. Now I have two endings in mind for this story, and one involves a sequel. So, if you are interested in the further adventures of Aurora and Holmes, please let me know.  
And, on with the show.  
  
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Chapter Eleven  
The End... or The Beginning  
  
Once it was all over, the police insisted on treating me like a hysterical victim, which was, incidentally, better than treating me like a thief. This meant that I got to sit and collect myself while the menfolk discussed important things within earshot. Watson was treating the guards for their drug-induced hangovers. Wes and Aden had been hauled off to jail long ago. The men all came to an agreement, and Holmes came over to sit by me.  
  
"I've talked them out of arresting you as well." He said.  
  
"So I heard." We sat in silence for another moment.  
  
"Why?" I asked.  
  
"Why what?"  
  
"Why didn't you have me arrested? God knows I've been nothing but a pain in the ass since I got here. You could easily have me convicted of being an accomplice." I pointed out.  
  
"But I know you were trying to prevent the crime, and you may have saved several lives tonight. You called him the Jackal?" I nodded. "He had another gun and a knife with him. No doubt the one he used to stab the guard."  
  
"Not bad for a night's work." I agreed, chuckling.   
  
Holmes stood and offered me his hand. "Miss Nancy Har…"  
  
I interrupted him. "Don't call me Nancy, no one calls me Nancy. Why do you think I introduce myself as Aurora?"  
  
"Miss Aurora Harland, may I escort you home?" He continued unperturbed. I accepted the offer.  
  
"Is that my shirt?"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
I always enjoy traveling through cities in the early morning. There's never any traffic, and it makes you feel like you own the whole city. Of course, half the time you're too tired to pay any attention.  
  
It was nearly four in the morning by the time we all got back to Baker Street. Sergeant Adams was napping in the hallway. He was stunned to see me walk in the front door. It would have been funny if I wasn't so tired.   
  
No rest for the wicked of course. I barely closed my eyes before one very pissed Inspector Lestrade walked in.   
  
"We were too busy trying to control that red-headed devil! A sergeant went in to check on him and the other one was gone! Bloody cell door hangin' open!" Lestrade's voice echoed out into the hall. It was about eight now, but it was still too damn early for me. The racket he was making had awakened me, and I was now sitting on the floor outside the sitting room, eavesdropping.  
  
"I was hoping since you knew his name and all, that you might be able to tell us where to start looking for him." Lestrade finished. Holmes didn't reply at once.  
  
"How did he escape a station full of officers?" Holmes asked.  
  
Lestrade sighed. "That one with the red hair, Aden did you call him? He kept yelling and carrying on. Sounded like he was trying to break out by brute force. The captain decided to get him tranquilized before he did some damage to himself or the cell. Well of course, Aden tries to bolt when they open the door. This Wes character must have slipped out while we were getting the other one back in." Lestrade sounded very disappointed. Losing one of two suspects in one of the most high profile cases this country has ever seen was not good for one's career.  
  
"I got all my information about Aden and Wes from another source. Aurora, would you care to sit in here rather than the hallway."  
  
I started, then realized that part of my dressing gown was visible through the doorway. I stood and entered the room. Holmes, of course, looked like he had a decent night's sleep. Lestrade shifted uncomfortably when I entered. I had gone to sleep without taking off my clothes from that night. I didn't get what the big deal was; it wasn't like I was wearing short shorts or anything.  
  
"I don't know where Wes would be now. He won't have gone back to the place I met him at before." I gave him the address on Tooley Street. Even money said that the whole place was cleaned out by now. I did remember what Wes had written the night before, about a meeting in Hyde Park. I kept it to myself however.   
  
Lestrade asked a few more questions before going off to investigate. Holmes didn't say a word. We had come to an unspoken agreement last night. As long as he stopped bugging me with questions, I wouldn't go on any more illegal expeditions. This did not include illegal expeditions currently underway.  
  
As soon as I could, I slipped out of Baker Street and went to Hyde Park. I had forgotten a key thing, however. Hyde Park is a fricken huge place. Wes and I always met at the Albert memorial, which wasn't built yet. I went anyway.   
  
As I approached, the area seemed deserted, but soon I became aware that someone else was around.   
  
"What took you so long?" Wes asked, sitting on the grass beside me.  
  
"I'm staying at 221B Baker Street. I can't just walk out the front door." Wes chuckled at my tart reply.  
  
"At least you didn't have to bail me out."  
  
I answered that with a great big hug for my best friend. "This is why I'm retiring."  
  
Wes didn't have a witty reply for that, so we sat in silence for a bit. "I'm starved." He announced.  
  
Knowing my best bud like I do, I had brought some food and money with me. He selected an apple and took a huge bite. "There's someone watching us, you know." He said around a mouthful of fruit.   
  
"I know." Actually I didn't know, but that didn't matter. There was a man walking by slowly, trying to be inconspicuous. Rather hard since we were the only three people in the area. I would have recognized Holmes anywhere.  
  
"Wes, how do we get back?" I asked, pretending to ignore Holmes.   
  
Wes glanced at his watch. "Well, in about five minutes, this time machine should kick in and put us back where we came from."  
  
"Good thing I brought his then." I produced the pearl from my pocket. I had a feeling that this whole time travel bit might work something like that, so I came prepared. "Here," I dropped the pearl into the bag along with the food and cash, "go hide in the woods for a minute. I gotta go do something."   
  
I stood and walked straight over to Holmes. Wes stared at me for a moment. Then he shrugged and headed into the underbrush.  
  
Holmes, in the meantime, was trying to walk away without looking like he was walking away. "Holmes, wait up." I called.  
  
He paused and turned. "How come you can always see through my disguises?" He asked annoyed. I could have said it was because I was always dealing with disguises of my own, but now wasn't the time.  
  
"I think I have to go." I stated.  
  
"You think?" He asked, confused.  
  
"Remember the whole time travel thing I was telling you about?" He nodded, suddenly understanding.   
  
"Well, I wanted to thank you for all you did for me here. It was one hell of a week." I grinned.  
  
"That it was." He smiled! Holmes isn't supposed to smile! A whole lot of conflicting emotions suddenly arose. Despite the chauvinism and lack of technology, the 19th century suddenly looked rather appealing. I turned to see Wes, no longer hiding, but standing at the edge of the trees watching. Damn. I hate this part.  
  
"Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes." I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before he could reply and dashed off to where Wes was standing. He opened his mouth.  
  
"If you say one word, Wes, I'll shove that apple…"  
  
  
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Question, comments, critisicms, complaints, can be directed to the review button there. Please?  
  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


	13. Epilogue

Well, since you all asked for it (and I started writing one anyway) I will be writing a sequel to this little tale. Hopefully the writing gods will bless me with inspiration and the time to get it all down. Keep an eye out December-ish at the very latest.  
This week's Reviewer of the Week is...Snowwolf! Thanks for pointing out my little typos, I really don't mind. My editing tends to be a little schizophrenic most of the time. ;)  
  
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Chapter Twelve  
Epilogue - by Dr. John Watson  
  
Two months later...  
  
It remains to me to fill in the ending to this strange tale. Two months after the arrival of our strange visitor, Baker Street remained much the same. Letters were still impaled upon the mantelpiece. Newspapers continued to provide cheerful clutter. Mrs. Hudson still fussed the steady stream of clients and mendicants, while Holmes continued to awe me with his powers of mental observation.   
  
I knew little about the seeming disappearance of Miss Aurora. Holmes obviously knew much more of her whereabouts than I, for he expressed no concern, though some regret over her departure. Aden "the Jackal" Scott and Wes also disappeared around the same time, and when I ventured the idea that they had escaped together, Holmes dismissed it rather sharply.  
  
Despite the pleadings of Scotland Yard, Holmes refused assist in tracking them down, citing another case which absorbed his attention. I, however, know for a fact that there was no such case. The investigation eventually concluded that they had fled the country, and incident was forgotten without ever becoming known to the general public.  
  
Since the disappearance of Miss Aurora, Holmes had been hired to track a missing girl named Helena Beckham. We had just returned to Baker Street after interviewing her family. As I closed the door, I noted that Holmes was looking at the staircase with a curious expression on his face.   
  
"Why Holmes, what is the matter?" I asked.  
  
"Someone has been here." He replied, without ever taking his eyes off the stairs. "There is a footprint on the stairs."  
  
I, of course, could see no such mark. But, of course, I took Holmes' word for it. We slowly crept up the steps, careful to avoid the least noise. Despite the noise of the door closing, there were no signs of life upstairs. Every light was on, and the light flooded into the hall. No shadows moved from inside. I began to think that whoever it was had left already, but to make such an assumption would be fatal. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson had chosen this night to visit friends.  
  
We had reached the top of the stairs when a voice from within broke the silence.  
  
"Are you two going to come in, or are you going to hang out in the hall all night?"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
I heard them coming a mile away. Actually, I heard them when the door closed. Same diff. I suppose I could have saved them the trouble of sneaking up the stairs so poorly, but that's not my style.   
  
Watson was very enthused at my surprise reappearance. I swear I could see him plotting away on how to get Holmes and I together. What could I say, I hated to crush his boundless optimism.   
  
"What, don't I get a hug?" I teased Holmes, who had reacted to my surprise visit with characteristic stoicism.   
  
"How did you get in here?" He asked, with more than a little humor coloring his voice.  
  
"No one answered the door, so I picked the lock. Wasn't hard to do, by the way. You might want to have that replaced."   
  
"I see your sense of fashion remains consistent." I was wearing my leather duster, stretch jeans, and a camouflage top.   
  
"I guess you could say that." The unspoken question hung in the air. Last time he saw me, I disappeared into thin air. I had this mental image of me disappearing in a blue shimmer with a neat sound effect, like on Star Trek.  
  
"Your...transportation difficulties have been resolved?" He asked.  
  
After returning to the twenty-first century, the first thing Wes and I did was hunt down this scientist and inquire about his time machine. After a lot a jibberish that I didn't understand, Dr. Albert told us that he had fixed the doohicky that was throwing the whatcha-you-call-it out of flux. Translation: he fixed it.  
  
Traveling back in time was now easier than catching the morning train. I was dying to drag Holmes back to the future, but first things first. I wanted to catch up with my old buddy. "I have permanent round-trip tickets."  
  
I am willing to bet Watson didn't understand three words of what just happened. Didn't seem to matter to him though. Like I said, he was planning the wedding.   
  
"Well, as long as you are here, perhaps you would like to assist on a recent case of mine." Holmes asked, nonchalantly. Yeah, right. I could see what was going on in that brain of his.  
  
"I would be delighted."  
  
The End  
  
  
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Question, comments, critisicms, complaints, can be directed to the review button there. Please?  
  
.·´¨`·»¦«·Kerowyn·»¦«·´¨`·. 


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